If These Pines Had Ears
by William Easley
Summary: The week after "Trans Pacifica," Wendy and Dipper get together-much to the surprise of a couple of Grunkles. A self-contained short-short with no nacho chips, but a small serving of Wendip.


**If These Pines Had Ears**

A slow Tuesday morning in July, and Stanford had come over early to spend some time in his old lab below the Mystery Shack. Stanley had accompanied him for the ride . . . and to spend some time with the kids.

The Ramirez family (Mabel liked to call them the Sooses), the Pines twins, and the great-uncles had finished a hearty pancake breakfast, and before starting their separate pursuits, the elder Mystery Twins took big steaming mugs onto the back porch and sat side by side there in the cool morning air, sipping their coffee and—a favorite pastime—arguing.

"Stanley," Ford said, "look, I'm not telling you what to do! It's a suggestion, not an order. And I'm just saying that you should invest some of your money. You won big in Atlantic City, you're sitting on a fabulous treasure worth—"

"Statute of limitations," Stanley said, cutting him off.

"But the money's idle," Ford objected. "You're losing just by letting it lie around and not work for you. Now, if you took, oh, just a quarter of what you're worth and invested in stocks—"

"Hah!" Stan said. "As if! The stock market's just a big gamble."

Ford stared at his brother. "I can't believe I'm hearing that from you. You love to gamble!"

Stan took a long swig of coffee and then said flatly, "Look, Ford, I don't trust stocks. I'll take a gamble only if I can roll 'em, spin 'em, or fan 'em."

"But those aren't like investing! Those are games of chance, Stanley!"

Stan winked. "Not the way I play 'em, Ford."

"Still I—Stanley, am I wrong, or did a Gnome just run out and drag a rat from under the porch?"

"Meh, it happens. That was a wood rat. I'd rather have 'em chowing down on a rat than a squirrel or a chipmunk. That gets Mabel upset. Rats, not so much."

"Gravity Falls," Ford sighed, drinking from his own mug of coffee.

It was only 8:15 on a sunny morning, not yet heating up, always a quiet time before the tourists began to arrive, but after a few moments, both men heard against the background twitters of birdsong and the rat-tat-tat of a woodpecker the sound of a voice—one they knew, but a surprising one to hear at that time of the morning.

"Hey, that's Wendy," Stan said, his eyebrows rising. "Around in the side yard. What's she doin' here this time of the day? She never came in this early when she was workin' for me—"

"Shh!" Ford said, holding up a six-fingered hand and tilting his head to hear better.

Stanley fell silent and listened. "Dipper, too!" he whispered.

Out of sight, around the corner, Dipper was complaining: "Wendy, this is too soon! Please. My whole body is so sore from when you first took it!"

Stan and Ford looked at each other in mouth-gaping surprise.

"Dude," Wendy said firmly, "you promised me, now! Gotta live up to a promise. 'Cuz man, I don't have any use for you if you're, like, all soft an' flabby."

Looking indignant, Ford started to jump up from his rocking chair, but Stan put out a hand to stop him. "Stanley!" Ford whispered sharply, his expression angry, "We have to stop this! They're just kids! Dipper's only twelve—"

"Nearly fourteen, Poindexter," Stan said mildly. "An' Wendy's a level-headed girl. Little old for Dipper, but if she's into him, hey, who are we to stop 'em? Stay still!"

"Pump!" Wendy was saying. "Aw, c'mon, man! Not slow and easy like that. Pump faster! Faster! Harder! Yeah, yeah! Oh, yeah, that's it!"

Ford was biting his lower lip, and sweat broke out on his brow.

"Yes! Great! There!" Wendy said. "Now, didn't that feel good? Be honest!"

"It felt good," Dipper said, gasping. "But now, please, let's rest!"

They heard Wendy laugh. "Oh, no, you don't. Again! Okay, we're gonna do it in this position. C'mon, get into it!"

"Oh, Wendy—"

Wendy's tone became a little more . . . intimate: "Do it for me, Dipper!"

And Dipper's voice took on a little overtone of resignation—and a bit of desperation, too. "All right, all right."

"Attaboy!" Wendy said cheerfully. "Now, get it up! Get it _up,_ Dipper! Now—just follow my lead."

Ford closed his eyes as the repetitive _whumping_ sounds began. "What will their parents say? I can't believe we're just sitting here listening while—"

Stan muffled a chuckle, but he whispered, "Go, Dipper! Yeah!"

"Feel it!" Wendy was yelling. "Feel it! Feels good! Feels GOOD, man! Lemme hear you say it!"

"Feels good!" Dipper yelled, though he sounded out of breath.

"Stanley, we really have to do something. She is going to _kill_ him!" Ford whispered.

"What a way to go, though," Stan replied , winking, his grin spreading all the way across his face.

Wendy again: "Okay, now—do it, Dipper! touch 'em! I said _touch 'em!_ Don't cheat me, man. I wanna see you touch them! Yeah! That's good, that's it! Keep it up. Oh, yeah!"

Stan wrinkled his brow. "On the other hand, maybe I should have a talk with 'em about, you know, the proper time for foreplay. I got a book in the Shack office somewhere—"

Wendy spoke again: "Good, man, good. Way to go, Dipper! Now then, you ready? We're going for a record this time. Thirty minutes straight, no slowin' down, no slackin' off. I want you movin'!"

Ford stood up. "No boy can stand that! Stanley, I'm going to stop this right now!"

Stan got up from his chair, reaching for Ford's arm but missing it as Ford moved.

"Hey, no—"

But his brother was already stepping off the porch with a purposeful stride. Stan sighed, gulped the last of his coffee, set the mug down on the porch, and followed.

Around the corner of the Shack, Ford stood stock-still, staring into the side yard. Stan came up beside him and laughed. "Hiya, kids! Havin' fun?"

Wendy, in gray shorts, green T-shirt, and red running shoes, waved and grinned, adjusting a green sweatband. Her face gleamed with sweat. "Hiya, Stan dudes! I'm whippin' Dipper into shape."

Beside her, looking sheepish, Dipper wore a similar headband, but red, a sweat-darkened red T-shirt, blue shorts, and black cross-trainers. He waved, then wiped beads of perspiration from his face with the back of a hand.

"So I guess you been warmin' up, huh?" Stan asked.

"Yeah," Dipper said, panting. "First pushups and situps, then jumping jacks, then crunches and stretches."

"Finally got the dude to bend over and actually touch his toes," Wendy said. "Now we're gonna run for half an hour. And we're gonna do this same routine every single day for the rest of the summer. Right, Dip?"

Dipper heaved a great sigh. "Every day, Wendy. Just like I promised."

She gave him a playful punch on the arm. "Good man, Dip! C'mon, then. We're not gonna power-walk or even jog. We're gonna run! Here we _go_!"

Stan and Ford could tell she was holding back so Dipper could pace her. They trotted down the drive, around the curve, and out of sight.

"Huh," Ford said. "I guess I jumped to the wrong conclusion from what we were hearing. I have to admit I was completely wrong about them."

Stan put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Nah, I don't think so. Not as much as you'd imagine. Ya know, somewhere I still got my old boxin' gloves from when we were kids. I think I'll dig 'em out and maybe three times a week give Dipper some lessons."

"Me, too!"

They turned around. "Mabel!" Ford said, opening his arms so she could run up for her morning hug.

Then she hugged Stan, who picked her up with a grunt. "You're gettin' too grown-up for me," he said. "I won't be able to do this in a year!"

Mabel laughed and leaped down. "Grunkle Stan, if Dipper gets boxing lessons, I want 'em too!"

Stan chuckled. "You got it, sweetheart! You just gotta remember not to break Dipper's nose or black his eyes. Hey, you haven't told me yet—what we doin' today?"

"I'm gonna teach you how to knit your first scarf!"

"Oh, knitting! Yeah, that's . . . that's great! You go get everything ready, an' I'll be up in a minute."

Mabel ran to the porch, held the door so Waddles could go inside, waved, and vanished, letting the screen slam.

Ford smiled. "You and Mabel have something special, Stanley."

"Aw, just that I never had a daughter and always dreamed of one. But what were you gonna say about Wendy and Dipper?"

Ford shrugged. "Just that I thought what we were hearing were, you know—sounds of love."

Stan laughed again. "Poindexter—they were!"

Mabel leaned out a window. "Uncle Stanley! The yarn is waiting!"

"Comin', Pumpkin!"

Ford chuckled as his brother walked to the porch and inside with a spring in his step. "Sounds of love," he murmured. Then he sighed and headed, alone, for his lab.


End file.
